


i would like to see you, can i?

by secretsarenotforfree



Category: Cloak & Dagger (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Lingerie, Teasing, Tyrone isn't really laying down some ground rules as much as, and Tandy is here for it the minx, reasserting them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24977143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretsarenotforfree/pseuds/secretsarenotforfree
Summary: It perhaps had a little something to do with the fact that he ended up doing the laundry more often than his girlfriend did, and he couldn't help but notice when new things started turning up in their loads. Things like gauzy white bralettes, crimson colored panties with little bows on them and all sorts of things designed to take prominent roles in Tyrone's daydreams.
Relationships: Tandy Bowen/Tyrone Johnson
Kudos: 35





	i would like to see you, can i?

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't as much a sequel as much as it's set in the same a-universe as 'when you're ready, you know where to find me', so i would REALLY recommend reading it first. it's an au with no powers, they're roommates turned best friends turned boyfriend girlfriend, basically. wanted to write something for my kids, so here it is! smutty. as usual. i have no control.
> 
> title from 'can i' by kiana lede!

Tyrone has never met his girlfriend's stepfather, but he is certain that he hates him.

He decides this after a series of events that result in Tandy's mom's life changing a few tides, mostly by Greg taking a position at a new law firm that pads his paycheck significantly. This leads to him doing everything he can to dote on his stepdaughter, including gifting her a monthly allowance. A monthly allowance that Tandy uses to make Tyrone's life much, much harder.

See, his girl is a contradiction, a mess of them in fact, and while it's one of the things that he loves about her it's also one of the things that makes Tyrone's life harder.

Tandy puts a great amount of effort into sending the message to the world that  _ nothing  _ can hurt her and she's impervious to every expectation or assumption made for her. This metaphorical suit of armor wove its way into every piece of her wardrobe, a fact he had known before granted the ability to divest her of such pieces. Whether she's aiming to look like an untouchable goddess or a too cool to be bothered homeless person, it's never mattered to Ty. He could always see right through her.

Or, more recently, wished he had that actual ability when it came to the clothes she donned every day. It perhaps had a little something to do with the fact that he ended up doing the laundry more often than his girlfriend did, and he couldn't help but notice when new things started turning up in their loads. Things like gauzy white bralettes, crimson colored panties with little bows on them and all sorts of things designed to take prominent roles in Tyrone's daydreams.

He'd been watching her for a while now, eyes heavy lidded and filled with something dark and hungry while she passes. Tandy is a damn good tease and she knows it, often working those effortlessly acted talents on her boyfriend, and Ty is only too happy to play along. You’d have to be insane to not trace her thick golden curves with powerful interest, fingers twitching slightly on his keyboard as they imagine stroking the scalloped edges of too thin silk on her breasts, the high arch of her panties. 

He loved it - every second of it. Loved the spark of knowingness in her eyes when she caught him, though Tyrone couldn’t help but be blatant about it, adjusting in his seat and leaning an arm on the back of the chair to get a better look at her parading in front of the too wide crack of their bedroom door. She shakes back her hair and runs quick, decisive fingers through it, arching a little as Tandy tries to perfect whatever do she’s aiming for that day, looking like the most savory vanilla latte in the world, all cream and coffee colored silk, and he wants to lick her up. He wants to devour her and show her how much she meant to him with his teeth and tongue until she’s a melted mess in their sheets.

She ruins many of his boxers midday at times like this, instances mounting until Tyrone is entirely sure that he will lose their little game, this push and tug of an unnecessary dance that has added a little spice to the waning months of their summer. He had been playing along in his own way, wiry muscles of his chest on display more often than not when lounging around their place. He worked on his music out loud, knowing that Tandy often got hot and bothered listening to him create beats and melodies with his keyboard like the savant he secretly was.

(“Your talent, Tyrone Johnson,” The blonde had told him once, all liquid brown eyes and slick heat swallowing him up in his desk chair, his groan whooshing between his lips, “Will  _ never _ stop being sexy.”

The confidence it had taken to show Tandy his music was all worth it, he thought at moments like that. It would last for a split second before he tugged her closer by the hair and fed her a scorching kiss like his life depended on it.)

It ran across his mind, sometimes, when Tyrone was deep inside her, sweat damp down his back and her keen in his ear, those lingerie sets. The amount of times he had exerted the full strength of his will to not go  _ remind  _ her who would be the only one to see those scraps of ridiculously expensive fabric that she called underwear, to say to hell with it all, were mounting to an entirely too high a number.

Fantasies of that thread start to steal into his hours at the counselling center, a blissfully frustrating daydream that struck when he was weak, and thinking of her.

Tyrone was at the end of his rope, to put in easier words.

Having picked up an earlier shift, the familiar sounds of Tandy unlocking their front door sounds through their apartment. She looks good, as she always does to him, in a halter length tank top that calls attention to the swell of her breasts, tight denim skirt calling attention to the thick lines of her strong legs.  _ God, he’s fucking lucky _ , Tyrone thinks as he shamelessly stares at her ass, though he keeps the thought reined in - it doesn’t have a place right now, where his arms are draped over the back of the couch, relaxed with all the tended strength of a panther. 

“Tan, we need to talk.” 

His serious tone makes her snort, putting her wallet on the sideboard and coming further into the room, having yet to meet his gaze while she kicks off her shoes. “I haven’t picked any pockets recently, so why?” Tandy’s tone dies when she finally gets a look up; suddenly, she feels very much in trouble. Excitement flares in her blood with near uncontrollable speed, but she couldn’t help it when he was involved. 

(Ty had always been the exception.)

She folds her arms over her chest with an entirely unnecessary arch of her spine, trying to draw his gaze away, but Tyrone wont fold. He just crooks a finger at her, tilts his head. “Come here.”

Normally, Tandy hates it when people give her orders. Would rather cut her hand off than do something someone else wanted her to do, razor sharp fierceness to lash out and prove that she’s more than a pretty blonde in ripped jeans, but none of that is a factor right now. The desire to do as he’s asked pools in her core and shows in the blush on her cheeks, but she resists for a moment more.

All it takes is the slight raise of his raven brows, and any reluctance for the sake of the game dissolves into the pool of her arousal. When she reaches him, and makes to sit beside him despite knowing exactly what he wanted, Tyrone stops with a sudden hold on her arm. One moment, she is still half in movement between standing and the couch, and the next she is in his lap, the denim of her skirt cutting into her thighs almost as it’s forced up. Ty’s hands settle on her hips, his own shifting to adjust to her weight and pressing him up against her in a way that short circuits her brain a little bit.

She needs to feel that again as soon as possible.

“You,” Tyrone near purrs underneath her, methodically pushing up the hem of her skirt with confident thumbs, the rough pads of his fingers catching on her skin deliciously. “Have been making some purchases. And these purchases aren’t being shared with me.” A widening of the position of his legs has Tandy’s sliding even wider, her heat rubbing against the hard and straining ridge of him. Her breath stutters out between them, grip tightening on the strong ridge of his shoulders, and she knows that if she moves around too much her arousal would be smeared on the fabric of his pants. Desperately, she tries to rack her brain as to what set she’d put on today, but it’s way too hard to think with her boyfriend nuzzling the neckline of her tank top.

“I can promise you there’s a lot more payoff in sharing them with me than hidden under those crop tops of yours, Tandy.” 

The frustration of not having some sort of retaliation yet bubbles up in her throat, Tandy’s loose shoulder length curls shaking with her head, swallowing hard when his hands start their work on her top. She rolls her hips, no longer caring about staining him, thorough and purposeful, and crows internally at the dig of his grip on her waist. “Tandy…” He growls, thick and rough, bucking up into her. Tyrone is as turned on as she is, the evidence heavy and thick between them, the knowledge filling her with victory, however brief as it is before he finds her mouth with his.

Wrapping her arms around Tyrone so that he can keep  _ kissing  _ her like that, eagerness and passion locked between them, is one of the great joys of Tandy’s life, she thinks. She bites his bottom lip, colorful and sharp, and he easily returns the favor. “Maybe,” Tandy gets out a little breathily, only pulling away to get ahold of the bottom of her shirt. “You should stop complaining about that, and take a closer look at it now instead.”

It gets thrown somewhere, she doesn’t fucking know, and when his eyes raise from her bra to her eyes the look in them fills her with white hot awareness.

(Damn it all to hell, her boyfriend was sexy.)

Ty, for his part, has decided that Tandy most assuredly has good taste, and he is a lucky bastard for being able to get his fill of scalloped, frothy white edges and tiny embroidered cornflowers, sheer mesh doing a terrible job at concealing dark pink nipples, pebbled and begging for his touch. Unlike the linked neck of her tank top, her bra was obliging enough to be held with a length of silk ribbon tied at the neck, and Tyrone wishes, almost, that she was under him instead so he could undo it with his teeth. From the feel of the damp fabric running along his thumb, her panties probably match, and he wishes that he could wave his hand and get rid of the rest of the clothing between them.

He slips a finger inside her, wet and willing, and Tandy presses a harsh “fuck, Ty” into his shoulder. 

“After you come so hard that you can’t remember your own name, you’re going to model each and every sinful scrap of lace you have for me, alright Tandy Bowen?” Tyrone keeps making those hard circles, coaxing and unrelenting, and  _ want  _ is the only thing that fills the edges of her mind. Using his shoulders to give her leverage, she impatiently rides his fingers, whimpering a little bit.

( _ Had he asked her a question? _ Tandy thought so, but she couldn’t focus on much when his middle finger joins the first and  _ twists _ just so. She’s so turned on that she knows that his hand is getting filthy with her, and honestly can’t be bothered by the realization.)

She pulls sloppily at his shirt, pleading “ _ Off,  _ Ty,” and if only for that request that Tyrone retreats, resuming his task as soon and they are both divested of their upper clothes. The slight change in position has Tyrone’s fingers going in her at a punishing pace, determined and confident at the tremble of Tandy’s thighs around him. He’s sure that he’s probably stretching at that expensive fabric, having long since pulled it to the side to get at her, and it makes him feel sort of smug inside. That feeling increases when Tandy’s shaking fingers fall from their position on his shoulder to his zipper, rushing the slip of the button and the pull of the metal. “I want to come with you inside me.” Tandy insists, and when she acts like that Tyrone truly has no choice but to fulfill her wishes.

He lifts his ass up from the couch to pull down his pants and underwear enough to get free and then finally,  _ finally _ , he’s pushing inside her, slick and wanting. Tyrone falls into a rhythm quickly, Tandy meeting it without them having to say a word. The bounce of her hips is absolutely  _ sensational _ and he cannot help himself from lightly smacking her ass, his action rewarded with a fresh moan from her lips.

“Fuck, yes.  _ Fuck _ , Tandy. Yes.”

  
“Yes yourself.” Tandy gasps, eyes squeezed shut. She rises to the top of a wave she desperately wants to crest, crying out when Tyrone’s fingers do their part to get her there, clenching around him.  _ Not  _ pounding into Tandy and emptying out in the space of a few thrusts makes sweat dampen along his spine, but it’s worth it, it always is, to witness the gorgeous downfall of Tandy Bowen coming.

Tandy Bowen, all blonde curls, her nails biting into his back while the heaving of her lungs make her freckles look even more like little constellations all over her chest and shoulders, inner walls clenching. She comes in a rush, trembling over him a gift that Tyrone snatches from the air and draws close for his memories, only now taking the time for himself.

It doesn’t take long (it never does, with her sated and still clenching around him), and the soft sounds of their tender kisses afterwards add up easily to those past moments of frustration. Tyrone runs a finger along the white silk of the bra still trying desperately to hold on around her ribs, breasts spilling over the down felled lacy cups in still peaked beautiful pictures. “You owe me a fashion show.”

Tandy’s bark of laughter is so her that his chest aches with it, Tyrone unable to help brushing away a no longer perfect curl from her cheek and he loves her. He really does. “I suppose I do.”

Tyrone Johnson is no expert, but he knows without a doubt that sight he’s privy to afterwards trumps anything Victoria Secret has put on.

  
  



End file.
